A Deep River Year
 October 22, 2014

The long, balmy days were sure to end eventually. This has been a gentle summer of soft days and cool nights, and this golden autumn has continued to be kind to us. There are still a few little tomatoes ripening in the garden, and green beans remain to be picked. For weeks there have been plenty of waving cosmos and bright zinnias, and the overgrown roses seem to like these cool October days, at least enough to surprise us with a sweet blossom here and there before winter comes. Best of all, the morning glories have bloomed at last. For months the vines have been sprawling over the garden fence and climbing the archway above the gate, and we have waited patiently for the cooler days of September to welcome their bloom. We have waited and waited. September came and went, and not one promising blue blossom.

Then, at last, October arrived. Helen Hunt Jackson's wonderful poem says that the suns and skies of June cannot compare to "October's bright blue weather." But for us, it was not the blue skies which we celebrated, but the glorious heavenly blue morning glories that decorated the edge of our garden. They are called "Heavenly Blue" for a reason. There is hardly another blue in nature to compare with these simple flowers, huge azure trumpets with a golden throat serenading the sunrise. For a week or two they have been gracing us. And the bees, too, have been thankful for them, making their last rounds before the flowers are gone at last. One afternoon a host of bumblebees flew in and out of heaven's blue, and in one great blossom I found a pair of them entwined--content, perhaps, to stay there forever.

That was not meant to be. Overnight a cold front swept through our valley, and when I stepped outside at dawn, the thermometer had just touched the freezing mark. The world seemed to shiver a bit with this brush of frost. It was not a hard frost. The marigolds and pineapple sage are still green and tall, and the tomatoes haven't given up, either. But, alas, the tender morning glories are drooping and shriveled. Now we will have to wait for next year to see such loveliness again. And the bees will have to look for heaven somewhere else.

Morning Glory

My love,
 we cut across the grain of the year
 in this season of angled light,
 seeking one more moment of summer.
 It is not ours to make, or will,
 but sometimes it comes
 as grace note
 to the dwindling days.
 One mellow day,
 the sun smiles warm
 upon this world of orange and gold,
 and the soft air hums
 with the gladness of bees
 who have found
 a tapestry of morning glories
 trimming our backyard fence with blue,
 a color richer than sky and sea.
 I will hold this vision,
 keep coming to it,
 that there is heaven in the world
 to find,
 some goodness lovely as a morning glory
 whose center is a star,
 a golden promise
 I would share with you.

--Timothy Haut, October 22, 2014